


'Cause If It's Torn We Can Stitch It Up

by ghettoassenglishman



Series: Take my hand--Take My Whole life too [11]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Family Bonding, Family Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Mickey Uses His Words, Mickey takes care of Ian, More Fluff, Protective Mickey Milkovich, post Season 5 - maybe some spoilers if you haven't seen S5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-18 01:28:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3550991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghettoassenglishman/pseuds/ghettoassenglishman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“No guitar solo's today?” Debbie asked, with a little snarl, she opened the fridge and pulled out some juice.<br/>Mickey cracked his neck,  “About that.” <br/> </p><p>4 times Mickey opens up to the Gallagher's about Ian and that one time Ian actually hears him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Cause If It's Torn We Can Stitch It Up

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from James Bay - If You Ever Want To Be In Love
> 
> I was thinking about this for ages, and decided to do it- so yar, please read and maybe comment if you liked it:)

 

 

**  1) Debbie. **

 

“I'm just going for a quick shower.” Ian told Mickey, chucking his tank-top into the pile of laundry and running quickly up the stairs.

 

Mickey sat at the kitchen table, tucking into a plate of pancakes. “Fine by me, don't want you stinking of sweaty balls anyway.” He heard the slam of the bathroom door, and the rumble of the shower – that really needed to get fixed because soon Ian would be showering downstairs with the state of the damp ceiling – he scoffed down some more buttery pancakes, until he heard the front door slam.

 

“Mickey.” It was Debbie, she was still wearing her vest top and gym shorts – Ian had told him she'd been training recently, something to do with defending herself – even though Mickey suggested teaching Debbie a few things, he was kind of proud that she was fending for herself in this shitty nieghbourhood.

 

The thing was, they hadn't spoke since she'd barged into his house demanding drugs for Ian, after he flushed them. Mickey had been besides himself, he couldn't bare thinking of what he said – even if he didn't remember he still cringed at himself.

 

“No guitar solo's today?” Debbie asked, with a little snark, she opened the fridge and pulled out some juice, she poured it into a glass and leaned against the counter.

 

Mickey cracked his neck – he hadn't yet forgiven himself for trying to drink his problems away, for trying to take the easy way out. Hell, he still hadn't forgiven himself for nearly scarring the girl, if one thing – he was happy he had that guitar to hide his junk. “About that.” he started.

 

Debbie sat next to him, shrugging her shoulders. “It's cool.”

 

“Cool? I forgot to go pick Ian up. He must fucking hate me.” Even though he had come back last night, he still felt guilty, he still felt that he'd let Ian down.

 

Debbie shook her head with disbelief. “He doesn't hate you, Mickey. Yesterday he called you like twenty times, _and_ he didn't kick you out last night so that's something.” God, anything else to make him feel guilty?

 

“I should have been there.” He mumbled to himself, sipping at his now-cold coffee that Ian had made. Why was he even telling her this? “I fucked up.”

 

The redhead nodded, slowly. “You did. But you came back and that's all that matters.” she put her hand, hesitantly, on top of Mickeys. “When Frank and Monica-

 

“Shut the fuck up about Frank and Monica!” Mickey suddenly snapped, he was getting tired of people comparing Ian to Monica, and looking at Mickey like he was that piece of shit Frank. “We ain't them, Frank didn't love Monica – he used her, I don't know what really happened But he's a piece of shit. I would never leave Ian.” Shit.

Debbie sat frozen, her eyes widening. She didn't look an ounce scared of Mickey but she was in a state of shock. “You-u what?” a little smile appeared on her face.

 

“Nothing. I said Nothing.” Mickey looked back at his pancakes, stabbing at them with his knife. “Just fucking forget it.”

 

“Do you love Ian?” She asked innocently. Mickey was thrown back from the question, sure he'd said it on the voice mail, but he had that crumbling feeling in his chest when something asked him directly.

 

Mickey took a quick glance, what was he so afraid of? Why was he so afraid of telling people he loved Ian. “I- I -

 

“Have you told him yet?” She asked, God – so much like Ian with the machine gun questions. He hadn't even answered the question and somehow she knew.“You know I wasn't going to compare you to Frank and Monica.” she mumbled, in addition.

 

Mickey was glad she'd changed the subject. “I sounded like you were.” He stabbed at the plate, again. “Just because I got wasted yesterday, instead of getting Ian, doesn't make me fucking Frank.”

 

“I know.” Debbie admitted, feeling a little guilty but it was evident Mickey needed that kick up the backside the day before. “You've got to listen to me though, I know we've gotta keep Ian strong and all that, but you've gotta be okay too. Just promise me you won't leave him, right? Not like Frank did to Monica, Ian wouldn't be able to live with that.”

 

Mickey nodded softly, chest wanting to burst with thinking of what could of happened if he hadn't showed up at all. “I promise.” he muttered quietly. God, when did he ever get so close to the fucking Gallagher's. He wouldn't admit this but he really did like Debbie, she some-how, like Ian, made things seem better.

 

They both suddenly shut up when Ian's loud feet padded down the stairs. “Oh hey Debs.” He saw how the both of them were sat, looking jittery. “You ain't giving her tips on how to beat the shit out of someone, are you?”

 

Mickey shook his head. “Nah, she asked me to buy her some rubbers for when she fucks her boyfriend.” he lied, earning a smack from Debbie.

 

**2) CARL**

Mickey groggily woke up to the sound of loud knocking, he turned to his side to find the bed empty; Ian must have left early to go for a run, something that he continued to tell Mickey would help him clear his mind. The knocking got louder so he got up from the bed, pulling on some pants and walked for the door.

 

“What the fuck do you want?” He swung the door open, to be pushed past by Carl – who had a large backpack strapped on his shoulder, over flowing. “What the fuck you doing, kid?”

“You good with guns?” Carl asked, planting the bag on the chair and spilled out his contents. Twenty small packs of powder came out, piling up against the couch. Mickey widened his eyes and walked over to the chair.

 

“Good with – why, you want me to kill someone?” Mickey asked, smacking Carl around the head. “Where the hell you got this shit from? Why have you brought it _here._ ” If Ian walked in now, they both would have no balls. He had strict rules about drugs in spaces that Yevgeny could get too.

 

“I, er, got a promotion.” Carl stuttered, eyeing up the packages and then looking up to Mickey.

 

Mickey rose his eyebrows, nearly shooting into his hairline. “Kid, you got busted. How the fuck could you get a promotion?” No one could forget Carl being banged up, the hassle of trying to get him out, the scams that Mickey helped out with.

 

Carl shrugged his shoulders. “I dunno.” Still, he hadn't told Mickey what he was doing there and probably at any point Ian would walk in and shit would go down, for sure. “I fucked up on my last round.”

 

Mickey's head shot up. “What you mean, you fucked up? You ain't been busted again, are you?” He knew how the system worked, how you had to be clever with selling this shit. “No one teach you that shit, don't flaunt the goods when there's cops.”

 

“It ain't that. Jesus.”

 

“You steal it?” Mickey asked, because sure – maybe Carl was into all of that shit. Something to get by in this shitty neighbourhood.

 

Carl ducked his head. “ _Technically,_ I was stealing it back. But the fucker wants to shoot me now and he kinda knows where I live.” The kid was acting way too old for his age – Jesus, Gallagher's always took to big of challenges.

 

“Why the fuck does he know that?” Mickey snapped.

 

Carl gave him a -duh- look. “Incase he wanted more, I thought I could make a little bit more cash.” Mickey slapped him around the back of the head, already beginning to pile the stash back into the backpack.

 

“You fucking idiot.” He shoved all the content into the bag, and shoved it back into Carl's chest. The older man walked over to the baby-proofed gun cabinet, and pulled out his gun.

 

Carl's eyes widened. “So, you're helping me out?”

 

“Looks like I'm gonna have to.” He closed the cabinet and noticed how Carl's eyes bulged out of his head. “What the fuck you gawking at, you ain't having a gun – stick to holding the shit you stole.”

 

“It's not like I'm going to shoot myself in the ass with it, Ian taught me a couple of things.” Then Carl tried to snatch the gun from Mickey's grasp – Total wrong move when your skills were a little weak, and your leg still hurt like a bitch.

 

“I don't give a fuck.” Mickey shot back, with a warning tone. “You don't speak shit to Ian about this, alright?” He knew if he told Ian, 1) he would get his ass skinned, 2) Ian would most likely get hurt out of all of this – that's something he wants to avoid for the rest of his life.

 

“Why? Will he try and stop you.” Carl zipped up his bag, and shrugged it onto his shoulder, following Mickey around like a lost puppy. They all know Ian would grill Mickey's ass for reaching out for danger – they'd argued and fucked about it enough.

 

“No, he'll try come with us and I ain't having that shit.” Mickey loaded his piece and nodded towards the front door. Carl stopped in his tracks. “Ian's a good aim, wouldn't it be good to have him there?”

 

“No it wouldn't.” Mickey was trying not to explain that having Ian there would be putting the redhead in danger, and he couldn't bare to think that. “He'll get way into it and end up shooting the fucker dead.”

 

“That's what we want. I want to rip his head off, can we burn-

 

“This ain't a fucking movie, Jesus christ.” Mickey rolled his eyes.

 

“So we can't cut his head off?” Carl asked, swinging a fist before him.

 

Mickey shook his head, scoffing. “Fuck off. We'll rough him up a bit, that's it.” He had told Ian he was done with violence, breaking a couple of knee caps is borderline.

 

Just as they stepped out of the door, Carl popped up a question again. “Do you stop Ian being under a wet blanket?”

 

“Wet bl- what the fuck you talking about?” Mickey asked utterly confused, why the hell would Ian be underneath a wet blanket?

 

“Ian said being crazy is like being under a wet blanket – really, I thought being crazy was jumping off roof's and shit or setting fire to your neighbours cat. ” Carl rambled out, not noticing Mickey's sudden silence. “So, do you make sure he's not under a wet blanket? Like help him feel normal and stuff.”

 

Mickey knew what the kid was getting at. “Well I ain't gonna tip-toe round him, thats gonna make it worse.” He hated the way that Fiona had been handling him with kid-gloves, he could see it in Ian's body, Ian's eyes – that it made him cringe and want to run away even more.

 

“I always thought being crazy would be _the_ shit. But I guess if your making Ian feel normal again he had teach me a few tricks, maybe get a _real_ gun.” Carl nodded to himself. Mickey never felt more at ease, the fact that Carl wasn't comparing them – wasn't treating Ian as if he would break.

Mickey had no idea how he suddenly opened up to the kid, but apparently he didn't care anyway. Just as Mickey was about to make a smart-ass reply, Ian came running up the steps. “What you two doing?” he eyed them narrowly.

 

“Frank tried to steal from the fund again, Mickey's gonna rough him up a bit.” Carl lied, trying to make his bag look as unnoticeable as possible.

 

“And you need a gun for that?” Ian nodded to the gun clutched in Mickey's palm. “Franks a fucking drunk not a mafia leader.”

 

“You never know man, gotta put safety first, right?” Mickey winked and pushed Carl towards the stairs, they both waved as they walked towards Carl's usual drug ring.

 

**3) LIP**

 

Ian had moved back into the Milkovich home. Svetlana was still sending him daggers with her eyes, making sure that Yevgeny was clutched to her hip everytime he tried to coo the little boy. As much as it hurt Mickey to see Ian shrink with shame, sadness like a little broken record – Yevgeny was Svetlana's son and he couldn't just rip her child away. It made sense.

 

Ian had tried to flush his med's again, resulting in a little amount left in each orange bottle. Mickey had immediately called Fiona, who had been too busy with Liam to take a run for some more, he then called Lip. They had both made an agreement that if Ian got worse, he would have to come home, as much as Mickey hated it – he knew at some points Ian would need his family.

 

The redhead was asleep – they told him he would sleep for hours on end, so Mickey waited for Lip to call over. He shot up as the front door opened and the curly-haired Gallagher stepped in. “You get them?” He asked almost immediately.

 

“Yeh chill, Jesus.” Lip flipped his bag from over his shoulder and pulled out three full, orange bottles, that all read – Ian Gallagher. Mickey walked over and picked up all three, placing them in their usual spot in the cabinet.

 

“You don't have to do this y'know.” Lip uttered from where he was stood by the couch. Mickey darted his gaze towards him, shooting him a questioning look.

 

“What the fucks that supposed to mean?” Mickey asked, hands already clenching. He already knew what the Gallagher's felt about him – well, he could guess. Lip of all people would be an asshole about this, he was the one who tried to persuade Ian to stay at home. “You trying to get rid of me, is that it?”

 

“No, fuck, Mickey.” Lip stuttered, wiping a hand across his forehead. “You don't have to have Ian here, you don't have to deal with all this shit.” Lip wasn't doing too well with explaining himself. He had seen Mickey in a way that he'd never seen before, helping Ian – making sure he went to the ward, but it all seemed too good to be true. He had to make sure.

 

“What? Caring for him? You don't want me to fucking care for him?” Mickey's eyebrows lifted into his hairline, inches away from throwing something. Seriously, Lip was questioning him? After all he had already done for Ian.

 

“A caring nature isn't too realistic for a Milkovich.” Lip answered, hands acting as if they were explaining. “I want to make sure that my brother is safe, that he won't fucking run off again with a baby and deny he wasn't pulling a Monica.”

 

Mickey felt the anger burn in his throat. “First off, asshole. You don't know shit about my family, you ain't gotta say in who we fucking care for.” He knew he was overreacting but he couldn't help it. “Secondly, Ian isn't fucking Moncia. Why can't you get that into your college-preppy ass that he isn't going to pull a Monica, because he ain't _her._ Yes, they might have the same shitty disorder but that doesn't mean Ian will slit his fucking wrists in the kitchen. If you want him to be better you have got to start helping him feel fucking normal, God forid if he doesn't feel like a trapped prisoner with the fact he has to live every day taking fucking pills!” Now he needed a smoke, and fast.

 

Lip stood shocked at the burst, he watched Mickey's fingers twitched and pulled out a smoke handing it over to the brunette. “I never knew you felt like that about it.”

 

“Yeh, well. I lot of people think that.” He lit the smoke, wrapping his lips around the filter. Lip still looked unsure and little uncomfortable, Mickey sighed. “Sorry man, but I'm fucking sick of everyone acting as if I don't give a shit.”

 

“I never thought you'd stick around this long.” Lip admitted, taking the smoke Mickey offered to him and took a long drag from it.

 

Mickey shrugged. “Well, you thought fucking wrong.” He chucked a beer in Lip's direction, and grabbed the plate of food he had ready for Ian. “I'm giving Ian this, sit down and don't fucking touch anything”

 

Lip eyed the messy living room, one of Iggy's socks hanging on top of the television, one in the astray. “No, wouldn't fucking dream of it.”

 

**4) FIONA**

 

Mickey barged through the Gallagher house, noticing that there was no noise coming from the living room, apart from Frank snoring on the couch. He heard a couple of voices coming from upstairs, bypassing Frank he kicked at the couch – waking the drunk up – he ran up the stairs in pure habit and saw Debbie and Carl stood outside Ian's room, leaning against the door frame, concern smashed all over their faces.

 

“What's going on?” Mickey asked, pushing past the two to see Fiona bent down trying to talk to Ian, who was curled up in the corner of the room, shaking and rocking on the spot. Liam came running from Ian's bed and clutched to Mickey's leg. “Ian sad, mouse. Ian sad.”

 

“Ian freaked out about his pills, he said he was scared that you would leave because of all the stuff that keeps happening.” Debbie filled in the unanswered questions.

 

Mickey felt his heart nearly jump out of his chest, he nodded and reached down to the little boy clutched to him. “Little guy go stand with Debs, alright. I'm going to help Ian, yeh?” Liam nodded, smiling and ran towards his sister.

 

Fiona was muttering words to Ian, “It will be okay. Don't worry Ian.” As much as Mickey knew she was trying, and that they had done this before, they were forgetting that Ian knew he wouldn't always be okay. He already knew the opposite to what she was saying. Mickey watched as the redheads body compulsive into shock after shock, sweat falling from his head as his chest heaved. Panic Attack.

 

“Ian.” Mickey whispered, giving Fiona a nod that she could move now. He had done this many times before, in the past weeks, and he knew how to calm Ian down till he could talk again. “Hey, Ian. Can you hear me?”

 

The younger boy nodded, one hand rubbing against his face. Mickey pulled his hand away gently, licking his lips he softly spoke to him. “I want you to breathe with me, okay.” He leaned in further, wrapping his arms around Ian. “Feel me breathe Ian, can you feel that?”

 

Ian nodded into Mickey's neck, his breathing till hitched and slightly jittery. Mickey rubbed his hands against his back, “Count with me... one...two...three...four....” He heard Ian whisper the numbers with him, his breathing slowing at the sound of Mickey's voice. “Five...six...breathe with me.”

 

Mickey was full aware of the Gallagher's watching them, but he continued to mumble into Ian's skin, rub his back, and make sure that he could finally breathe. Ian finally wrapped his arms around Mickey's waist, letting out a deep, sincere sob. “I'm...- I'm so sorry.” He shook under the motion and Mickey pulled him in closer.

 

Pulling back a little, he kissed Ian's forehead. “Hey, its okay. It's alright.” He ran his fingers through the ginger strands and rubbed at Ian's shoulder blades. “You wanna lie down?” He asked, nodding his head towards the bed.

 

“Don't leave me.” Ian clutched to his wrist, begging him with his eyes.

 

“If you think I'm fucking leaving you are dumb, Gallagher.” He smiled, feeling the break of a grin form across Ian's face. He heard a huff of laughter, something he treasured now. “Come on, tough guy.” Ian happily followed, legs nearly buckling as he stood. Helping him, Mickey led the taller boy to the bed.

 

The others waited at the door, taking their queue to leave after kissing Ian goodnight. Mickey stripped from his clothes and rested his head against the one pillow, bringing Ian closer to his chest. The redhead quickly sunk into a deep sleep, his hand wrapped around Mickey's waist protectively. Just as Mickey was about to close his eyes, he had watched Ian sleep for almost an hour, he heard the door crack open.

 

“He asleep?” Fiona asked, leaning against the door frame. Mickey nodded, not wanting to wake the boy next to him with a loud voice. “Thankyou.”

 

Mickey looked confused. “For what?”

 

“Everything, what you just did. _This.”_ Fiona tried to explain herself. “You really care about him, don't you?” She asked, smiling like she had done the day they went to see Ian. As if she was proud.

 

At first Mickey didn't know what to say, because it had been obvious hadn't it? He didn't everything for Ian. “You're only just seeing that now?” his whispered, hand stroking through Ian's air and down to fiddle with the lobe of his ear.

 

“Lip was wrong about you, y'know.” She spoke softly, tucking her hands underneath her armpits. “He said that you weren't good for him, but he's wrong.” She added, giving Mickey a genuine smile – something he hadn't seen in a while.

 

“Lips wrong about about a lot of fucking things.” Mickey snorted. He smiled when Fiona giggled from the door, her hand playing with the ring on her finger.

 

Shooting back his own words she opened the door, and paused. “You're only just seeing that now?” She laughed and closed the door. God, when did he get so open, and so _nice,_ he looked down to the boy wrapped around him – _Oh, that's when._

 

**1+ LIAM**

 

Mickey walked down the Gallagher stairs, pill bottles in his hands, to find the youngest Gallagher sat infront of the television. Confused, he walked through to the kitchen and placed the three bottles at the back of the cabinet – precautions of living with Frank – he walked back into the room and was ready to walk back up when he heard the little boy call him out.

 

“Mouse!”

 

Mickey felt guilty for taking a run for it, plus the little guy was all on his own, and Ian was asleep anyway. He parked himself onto the couch, sitting next to the little boy. “What you doing, little guy?” He noticed a porno on the screen, he raised his eyebrows and turned it over to some dinosaur shit. “You're too young for that, bud. Maybe in in ten years or some shit.”

 

Liam looked at him, brown eyes like buttons on a bear. “You and Ian play doctor.” He held up a spoon, handing it to Mickey with a grin. Mickey never really paid attention to Liam, he never really spoke, but he could feel his heart warming to him, just like it had with Yevgeny.

 

“Yeh we did, I make a great fucking doctor I have you know.” He played, tickling Liam till he was sat against his lap.

 

“Is Ian sick?” Liam asked, his pronunciation a little off but cute as hell. Mickey hummed to himself, wishing that Ian didn't have to be sick – Ian didn't deserve it. He nodded, before answering.

“Yeh bud, it sucks. But he has me to be his doctor, I'll take care of him I promise.” He fist bumped the little boy, causing him to giggle and whack his head against Mickey's chest. If anything, the little guy was by far the best Gallagher – other than, Ian of course.

 

“Promise?” Liam held out his pinky.

 

Mickey chuckled to himself, God – he felt like such a fucking kid. He hooked his pinky with Liam's. “If I break this promise you get to break both my frikking legs, okay?” The kid nodded, smiling happily.

 

“Is Ian better?” He asked, eyes pleading for the answer to be yes. Mickey could see how close Liam was too Ian, how much Ian loved him more than anything.

 

Mickey shook his head, sadly. “Not yet bud, but he will be. You wanna know why?”

 

Liam nodded his head, excitedly. Mickey grinned, and leaned closer as if it was a secret. “I'm going to do any shit I can to make him better. When you love someone you've gotta make sure they are happy, you gotta look after them when they're sad. Like I said, I'll take care of him.” Liam had been the first person Mickey had actually admitted he loved Ian too, somehow- he felt a relief pulling off his shoulders.

 

“You wove Ian?” Liam asked another question. God, Mickey was used to Ian's questions, but jeez.

 

He answered anyway, for some reason he felt safe to say when it was just him and the little man. “Yeh. I guess I do.”

 

“You do?” Mickey jumped from his seat, Liam nearly tumbling from his grasp. His eyes met with Ian's, who was sat at the bottom of the stairs, bed hair sprawled ontop of his head.

 

“I-” Mickey was speechless. “How much of that did you hear?” He placed Liam onto the cushion of the chair, awkwardly fidgeting with himself as he stood up. Ian followed in suite, ruffling Liam's hair as he stood infront of Mickey.

 

“Enough to know that you love me.” He softly answered, words fluttering across Mickey's chest. “Enough to know that you'll always be here.” He saw the tears brim in Ian's eyes as he stepped closer. “Enough to know that I never want to let you go.”

 

Mickey scoffed at the pure Nicolas Sparks vibe Ian just recounted, but palmed Ian's cheek anyway. “Well then I'm glad you heard it, because I don't think I could say all that shit twice in one day.” Ian laughed with him, giving Mickey a soft and gentle kiss on the lips. He didn't need to hear it twice a day, he already knew.

 

“You sure you want to deal with this?” Ian asked, the question still on his mind.

 

Mickey rolled his eyes and called over to Liam. “What you think bud, am I a good doctor?” Liam nodded enthusiastically, clapping his hands, he ran over and handed Mickey the spoon from earlier, Mickey took it and handed it to Ian, smiling sweetly.

 

“If Liam says I have to, I kinda got to. Y'know that brother-in-law pact is going pretty fucking strong.” he joked, only wanting Ian to laugh, because it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard. Getting his answer, he looked back at his boyfriend.

 

“So you still want me?” Ian asked, once more.

 

Mickey pulled him into a kiss.“One hundred fucking per cent, Gallagher. I ain't going anywhere.”


End file.
